


Tantalus (The Spy Who Loved Me)

by LelithSugar



Series: Double Jeopardy [4]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Comedy, Crack Played Straight, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Honeypot Missions, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Porn, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Science Fiction, Seduction, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spy Stuff, Time Travel, age reversal sort of, all homophobes in this fic get punched in the face, attempt at sci-fi, blindfolding, but not yet, lol, taking liberties with physics, told you I'd be using that tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: “Eggsy, you insufferable tart. Time to put that sex drive to good use. I’m sending you further back to plant this -” a fairly standard looking bug from the desk drawer - “with an agent before we knew we were able to do this. Way before. And make sure he keeps it.”“How am I gonna do that without letting on what we’re up to?”“Use your brain, lad. Do you happen to know anybody who keeps trophies?”Time travel's got this way of making things complicated: what should be a standard - enjoyable -  honeypot might just turn out to be the most significant mission of Eggsy's life.[Now complete! Illustrated most beautifully by Starrr! (@kingsman_hell)! Chapter three is just straight up 19yearold!Harry/29yearold!Eggsy smut and can probably be read as a standalone PWP if you try.]
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Series: Double Jeopardy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/998508
Comments: 79
Kudos: 191





	1. Nine magicians walk into a lab...

**Author's Note:**

> Here we fucking go!  
> Right so. Thanks an entire world to Otherwiseestella for helping me unwind this mass of nonsense; to Emphysematous for the key plot points/devices and to Galahadsquared for the entire universe these fics occupy. Gods honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm having a great time. And as you may have gathered, there is smutty smut smut coming and some absolute top shelf (in every sense) art from the wonderful Starrr.

Tantalus (The Spy Who Loved Me)

Chapter One

“Oh my days, it’s like a fucking minion orgy in ‘ere!” 

Three Merlins simultaneously turn to frown at Eggsy. Several - count them, nine - more are busy away around a boardroom table laid out with mathematical paper and the one Eggsy presumes is the original is sat at a desk with Percival beside him, squinting at a computer screen. They could probably all do with glasses with actual prescription lenses rather than augmented reality technology and laser beams.

This whole scene would be weird - or at least, more immediately logically disagreeable - had Eggsy not fairly recently become acquainted with Kingsman’s top secret time travel technology and, in the process, become acquainted with several other versions of himself and a couple of copies of Harry. Good times had by all, and as far as the agency's concerned it’s all filed unspecifically under ‘ _ testing’. _

“Not everyone’s first instinct, when met with their own clone, is to f-“

Eggsy cuts him off mid flow with two raised hands. “Nah mate, you do you. Literally.” He tips Merlin an easy wink. “You  _ know  _ I ain’t gonna judge.”

“What we are currently working on,” says Percival, loudly, firm but polite, “is calculating whether physical objects sent back and left behind make it through to the present day as we understand it… and we’ve discovered we don’t understand it very well at all.” He emphatically closes his notebook, and immediately puts it in the bin. 

“And you know what they say,” poses not-the-Merlin-Eggsy-is-expecting as various copies of him pop out of existence, unceremoniously disappearing to leave just the ones actively working behind, and another finishes: “If you want a good job done, do it yourself.”

He’s pushing the definition of that one a bit, Eggsy reckons, but maths ain’t his strong suit and if Merlin being able to conjure up clones to do his bidding means Eggsy gets an extra half hour in bed of a morning, he ain’t complaining. Of course, that doesn’t really explain why they’re here  _ now. _

...and wow, the word  _ now _ really loses significance when you’ve hopped about the space time continuum a bit. Eggsy tries not to think about it: he’s started getting migraines. Which reminds him...

“No, yeah, you definitely can! I left my pants -“ they all turn to look at him, and suddenly explaining why having a pair of your own pants proves anything about time travel is not as simple as it felt in Eggsy’s head before he opened his mouth. He puts his hand down and doesn’t finish. 

One Merlin shakes his head. “Doesn’t answer anything, because there’s no break in continuum. You know... knew, about the time travel. The results are moot. What we need is…” 

The Merlin at the computer is speaking mostly to himself, in the traditional fashion, but there are still a couple at the corners of the table. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t realise before. Eggsy, you insufferable tart. Time to put that sex drive to good use’”

“Dunno if I’m down for a gang bang mate. We can call Harry, see if he - “

“Just… shut up. For god’s sake. I’m sending you further back to plant this -” a fairly standard looking bug from the desk drawer - “with an agent before we knew we were able to do this. Way before. And make sure he keeps it.”

“How am I gonna do that without telling him what we’re up to?”

“Use your brain, lad. Do you happen to know anybody who hoards treasures?” His eyebrow perks to emphasise a quick sweep down Eggsy’s body and back up. “Who keeps trophies?”

“He’s like a magpie,” Eggsy grins, getting it; feeling pleasingly seen because someone else is publicly acknowledging what an absolute sex hound his boyfriend is - always has been - and this is starting to sound like he’s going to get to bill a day's salary for a roll in the hay. “Like the Little Mermaid. Cave full of cufflinks and knickers and... wait, that don’t work.  Nothing adds up if you change that. Don’t you reckon Harry might have mentioned if he’d met me before?”   
  
“Exactly,” interjects Percival, who’s been kneading his forehead so long he’s got a pale patch across his brow. “He’d remember, and the fact he hasn’t means it hasn’t happened.”

“Not necessarily.” Merlin opens a drawer - then another, and then one on the other side, obviously looking for something, which is always a worry.

“I ain’t drugging him or wiping his memory.” Eggsy throws out before it can even come up, because fuck knows what Merlin’s got stashed in those drawers and in context Eggsy isn’t sure he wants to meet any of it. “It’s just wrong.”

It wouldn’t be the first time a mission had got a bit morally dubious, but they’re past the point of pushing Eggsy beyond his comfort zones for the sake of it now, and apparently there’s an easier answer. Triumphant, Merlin holds Eggsy out a silver Signet ring. 

“No need. R and D have been playing with this. A quick shock, less sensation than a bee sting but it harmlessly overstimulates the temporal lobe. Short term effects lasting a couple of hours. That should do it.”

“In English?” Eggsy slips the ring onto his right pinkie, and then tries it on his ring finger. Flexes his knuckles. 

“Messes with the bit of the brain that recalls faces for a little while. The rest of the memory will be intact, nice little story to tell the grandkids, just not quite the ‘who’.”

Eggsy nods, but Percival is still having none of it.

“Surely Galahad would know, if there was some mysterious man in his past... he’d remember the one he doesn’t remember?”

Eggsy snorts at the same time Merlin cuts in “Don’t flatter him," thought creasing his brow over his glasses. “But it does leave the question of when to send you to, Unless… oh you fucking idiot.”

“Er? Bit rude?”

“Not you. Me.” Merlin types some more. A look flicks onto his face like a pull-string bathroom light coming on, like the punch of a stamp on files marked  _ top secret  _ and  _ highly dangerous.  _ “The answer’s been staring me in the face for years. I just didn’t know the question until this morning.”

Percival appears to give up waiting to be told what on earth’s going on, and the remaining spare versions of Merlin stop existing, so that's that taken care of.

“Gawain,” Merlin begins, and Eggsy faces him soberly for the briefing. “What have you got that you can come back without? Something small and not too modern and for the love of god not your pants this time.” 

Eggsy puts on his glasses, hooks his Rainmaker over his forearm and makes a point of adjusting his new green-and-grey tie. 

“He was admiring this, this morning. Timeless, innit.” 

Merlin squints at him. 

“That’ll do.” He slips his fingers up into the inside of the tie to plant the bug, and collects the time device’s contacts from the table. “Now, These are pre-programmed to get you there and return you home. Get the bug from the tie in whatever godforsaken treasure trove Harry keeps his momentos in and we will reconvene here at twenty three hundred.” He puts the contacts into Eggsy’s hands. “Good luck. Not that you need it. I think.” 

Merlin clasps Eggsy’s hands to touch the contacts together and before his brain even registers that, Eggsy’s opened his eyes standing on an unfamiliar corner, the street light overhead blinking to life in the twilight.

That’s just fucking weird. Jumping from morning coffee to evening has got to give you jet lag or something, surely, but Eggsy gets his bearings quickly. It’s early summer, from the mildness of the air and unless someone’s holding an Extremely Boring Car convention, the licence plates and wear on the vehicles parked up around him say it’s about…

...nineteen eighty four, eighty five? Which makes this the furthest he’s jumped in time by a chill  _ thirty fucking years. No need to warn a man, Merlin.  _

The street’s quiet for the time of night, and the pub across the road with the windows glowing dimly and the murky sandwich board announcing karaoke on Saturday - it’s not Saturday, then - is called The Eagle.

Harry’s local at university was called The Eagle, and if he’s looking for Harry sometime in the early eighties, super spy Eggsy Unwin reckons that might be a decent place to start. If he’s not there, someone’s bound to recognise a description and tip him off in the right direction. There can’t be that many blokes like Harry knocking about, and it’s a nice night for a bit of sleuthing about Cambridge on the scent of an almost guaranteed shag.

Of course, the sense of mild excited anticipation goes right out of the window when Eggsy pushes the door open to the stifling warmth of the pub and immediately sees Harry - as was, recognisable instantly by the long, broad but skinny frame and the gravity defying hairdo, what the  _ fuck,  _ honestly - just in time to watch some massive tattooed hulk in motorbike leathers pull back and punch him in the face.

Eggsy holds his lungful of breath whilst he assesses the situation: Harry on what looks like his own, cornered, surrounded by likely looking thugs who have all turned to look at Eggsy in the doorway in his conspicuously neat suit and glasses; Harry still held by the front of his shirt, nose bleeding; and Eggsy realises, he knows this story.

He is not just here to seduce Harry. 

This is not just a honeypot. 

This is how Harry becomes a Kingsman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuhhhh!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. The rest is written (mostly, you know what I'm like) but I'm not sure of my posting schedule so you may wanna hit subscribe or whatever if you want to keep up with this one. 
> 
> The chapters to come are illustrated by the incredible @kingsman_hell - go look for some glorious art on twitter!  
> Peep me while you're there - @agentsnakebite
> 
> All feedback devoured and used to keep me alive, motivated and writing. Not a drop goes to waste!


	2. One biker gang and one spy walk into a bar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for homophobic verbal abuse - but appended with the tag #all homophobes in this fic get punched in the face.  
> Lovely art by the inimitable Starrr (@kingsman_hell) at the end of this chapter!

Chapter Two 

“What have we got here…” drawls the ring leader, turning his attention to Eggsy in the doorway. Too right: you don’t turn up to a pub in full Kingsman ‘ _gentleman’s armour’_ not to turn heads. “Another poof looking for a battering?”

“ _Well._ ” Eggsy dusts off his best might-have-been-at-Cambridge accent and adds a little camp just for the avoidance of subtlety. He knows how he looks, with his immaculate suit and his side-parting and the umbrella by his side: fucking smooth as hell, obviously, but also just obvious enough. ”I was _looking_ for a good martini and some pleasurable company but if you’re what’s on offer…” he lets a single raised eyebrow finish his sentence for him.

In a shallow maelstrom of disgust and confusion, the ringleader squares his shoulders. 

“Careful,” he warns the muggins who takes hold of Harry for him, nodding with disdain at his bleeding nose. “Don’t wanna catch nothing.”

 _Catch these fucking hands,_ Eggsy thinks but doesn’t say, because that’s probably not funny in the eighties and there’s nothing fucking funny about the rage in his throat. He’s dealt with homophobes, with edgelords and rent boy jibes and all the rest of it but there’s something so fucking _disgusting_ about the disgust on this lot’s faces. And the fact it’s aimed at Harry… would be bad enough in the present day but with Harry so young and vulnerable and uncertain… 

The lead thug takes a step towards their well dressed newcomer.

Eggsy doesn’t need to look down to see the man’s fists clenching in readiness, the uninspiring drivel tattooed across his knuckles fading with the tension. He also doesn’t need to break eye contact to prepare for the fight that’s obviously coming; the rainmaker and the watch are already primed to non-lethal force. Sadly.

“Don’t -" begins Harry, and the sound of his voice jars Eggsy way more than seeing him. That’s _his_ Harry. The Harry he just left in bed this morning, only he’s all of nineteen years old and fucking stunning, even with blood dripping from his nose and staining the collar of his shirt, dripping on his sweater, looking at Eggsy with this sort of sadness over the top of intrigue. Looking at him like he’d like to know who this stranger is, what’s brought him to this particular pub on this particular night that rumours have obviously spread about, and where this night might have taken him, if he hadn’t already accepted it was to the Accident and Emergency department and perhaps on to some unexpected dental surgery.

It’s exactly how he’s supposed to be looking at him, because he’s told Eggsy this story. 

_‘Just when I when I thought I was done for, in sauntered this… man, in a pinstripe suit, with an umbrella he posed like a cane.’_ Could’ve been any one of their agents. ‘ _I didn’t think he knew what he’d walked into, at first.’_

Well he’s half right. Eggsy might not have been expecting to turn up here, now, but the set up’s familiar enough: bunch of louts causing trouble; undeserving cornered pub patron; unlikely looking special agent. Sounds like a party.

“Sit down, Ha - _ndsome.”_ Too close. Smooth recovery. “I think our friend in the dashing leathers has asked for the first dance.”

Of course that’s when the punch swings: heaven fucking forbid you might accuse anyone of dancing. Eggsy ducks it, of course, sideways so that his assailant’s fist connects with the teeth of the man who was stepping up behind him to try to hold him still. Eggsy grabs hold and twirls around to sling them both into the man who’s just smashed a bottle on the bar, and they all go down in a heap of bleeding slashes and broken glass. It’s all just instinctive. He cannot fail, or he wouldn’t be in the timeline he is, so he trusts his intuition - ducks and blocks and kicks and punches and everything connects. Everything works, just like he knows it has to, and in a few minutes that play in his head as long slow freeze frames they all go down. Eggsy springs off the pile to kick another gang member in the throat and put up the Rainmaker in the face of the one coming at him with a knife. 

_‘He was poetry in motion, if you'll forgive a tired phrase. I’d never seen a human being move the way he did: like a dancer but lethal. ‘_

Not quite. Well, he _could_ be, easily, and he supposes that’s the point but there are no fatalities tonight. A few black eyes, a few broken bones, another poor barman to be knocked out and wake up with no idea why his pub looks like a bomb’s gone off when he was pretty sure this was the night all the nice quiet young men from the Arts and Social Sciences came to make eyes at each other. Poor Harry, the last to get the memo that word about their social had spread to the wrong places.

It’s a delicate balance, working out what technology to flash that’s going to pique Harry’s interest but isn’t literally impossible for him to have had. His watch looks analogue so the darts are a good shout: Eggsy uses those to take out the last two biker henchmen and, with a memory wipe for good measure, the barman.

Which leaves - conscious, anyway - him and Harry. 

It’s mad, in the sudden silence, meeting those same molten chocolate eyes across a bar and seeing no recognition there… just as it should be, of course. But there’s plenty more in that look. Wonder. Admiration. Gratitude. Heat… yeah, there it is. It's not exactly surprising but it still makes new excitement flutter up in Eggsy's chest because it may not be completely obvious to anyone else but he knows exactly the look Harry gets in his eyes when he’s aroused. Intimidated, too, and he knows first hand how potent that mix of scared-but-horny is. He cocks his head, beckoning, and Harry makes his way over.

“I’m very grateful for the way you uh, stepped in.” He lets it hang, the big impossibility of what Eggsy’s done, floating in the air above them - suspended animation like the unconscious bodies scattered about on the floor: not yet. “I’d offer to buy you a drink but … you’ve incapacitated the barman.”

“Martini?” Eggsy lifts himself over the bar on one hand, quick and easy. So what if he’s showing off a bit? It ain’t really a question either. He’s set the glasses out for two before Harry’s even made it to the bar stool Eggsy pulled out for him. 

_He made the perfect martini. Wouldn’t tell me his name._

“Harry Hart,” Harry asserts as he takes his perch, not offering a hand because Eggsy’s are clearly occupied pouring their drinks. Eggsy smiles, says nothing, but toasts his acknowledgment with a nod, a touch of their glasses and a sip from his own… yeah, that’s pretty good. And much needed: he hadn’t realised how hard his heart is pounding with the adrenaline of the fight, the thrill of what might be to come. 

Harry peers over at the barman. “Is he dead?”

“Tranquilised.” Eggsy opens the handle of the rainmaker like it’s a shotgun, and removes the little lazer pen from its bracket. Maybe he doesn’t need it for the split in his knuckles, but he’s got to intrigue Harry as much as he can - he’s on a mission here, after all. Harry watches with quasi-casual interest, not giving a thing away, pointedly not asking but Eggsy answers him anyway. “Painless cauterisation. Won’t even scar.” And, of course, getting it out does reveal the chambered vials of neon red, green and pink liquid that he sees reflected in the eager gleam of Harry’s eyes... even if he is doing an admirable impression of being nonchalant about it all.

_‘He was armed to the teeth, but I never felt scared of him. He’d gone to the trouble of saving me from a battering, after all, and I could only hope I knew why.’_

_“_ What have you got there, then?” Harry asks eventually, like he’s not interested; gets rescued by special agents every day, sure, and two can play it cool. Eggsy suspects the labs make all their formulas those bright colours for fun - just because they can - but it looks the part: Harry’s eyes are wide even whilst this eyebrows stay skeptically perched, and Eggsy points to the chambers in turn.

“Need anything tested for powder explosives?” Harry shrugs gently, gamely, in a _you never know_ sort of way which is funny only because he'd be right. “ _Need_ an explosive? Need anyone horribly murdered? Wouldn’t even touch that one.” Eggsy pops the laser back into its gap in the barrel and with a click, the handle is ordinary again.

Harry _hmm_ s. Raises his martini to his lips again, and drinks a long draft admirably smoothly. “And I suppose you’re, what, some sort of spy or something?”

“Something, definitely.”

“And now I’ve seen all this, you’ll have to kill me.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind.” Eggsy lets the eye contact linger whilst he finishes his drink. Harry’s just paying the trope lip service: he’s got his brain in gear, wouldn’t even have accepted the cocktail if he thought his new friend was going to do anything untoward… or else he’s resigned to the fact he’s out of his depth, that he’s not even scratched the surface of what this man is capable of. _Too right you ain’t._ “Come here, let me check if you’re still bleeding.” 

In actual fact it’s Eggsy that moves, around to Harry’s side of the bar and Harry puts his knees together, tips them to the side to allow him close, but not too close: the guard’s still up despite the fight and the drink… or perhaps because of them, he’s not an idiot, and there's a painful little pang in Eggsy's chest that Harry might be afraid of him but it would be weirder if he weren't at this moment. 

_‘He was the perfect gentleman. Cleaned me up, checked I wasn’t hurt.’_

Standing over him, looking at Harry properly, Eggsy gets to marvel at how different this _doesn’t_ feel even though this version of Harry is under twenty and demonstrably - necessarily - doesn’t know Eggsy from a bar of soap. His hair is artfully massive, thick and curly, and he smells fucking gorgeous despite the spilt beer and the tang of blood. Eggsy tries to superimpose current Harry’s face in his mind’s eye… there’s something sexy this version hasn’t quite grown into yet, but bloody hell is he beautiful. All smooth and pale and pouty, like a painting.

Eggsy tips neat vodka over the handkerchief whipped from his pocket and uses it to dab Harry’s nose clean, to wipe the dried blood from his lips. They’re a touch fuller, softer than they are now - distracting, not surprising, particularly because of the way he immediately pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Eggsy’s so transfixed by that unconscious honesty that he lets himself get caught mirroring it, just at the moment’ Harry’s nerves and vigilance finally kick in. 

Harry clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. 

“What those men said, I’m not…”

“Aren’t you?” Eggsy asks gently, grips Harry’s chin softly between fingers and thumb and tips him up to meet the laughter he's only showing in his eyes. “That’s an awful shame. Are you sure?”

“I - oh. Well. I-“ Harry breaks the eye contact for a second but his tongue wets his swollen bottom lip again and pink rises on his cheeks. It’s gutting, that all his years of training have wiped that transparency out of him, because it makes Eggsy’s mouth water and pleasant tension start to throb low in his core. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Does it matter?” Eggsy smiles, but makes it one of those slow ones Harry these days would recognise as trouble. He's got the feeling this version will pick it up quick. “Call me Galahad.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, bluster right back in place.

“My knight in shining armour?”

“If you like.”

“You’re definitely a spy.”

“Might be." Close enough to feel Harry's breath on his face, Eggsy lets himself grin at last. "If I am, you gonna let me have a kiss?”

“Well.” The dimples of Harry’s smile appear for just a second, the smile itself schooled before it can really appear, and they both lean in until he’s almost saying it into Eggsy’s mouth: “I’ve never kissed a spy before.” 

Eggsy resists any of the wisecracks that won’t ever make sense and puts their lips together.

It should be easy, because for Eggsy, this must be as close to their thousandth kiss as their first - who’s counting? - yet the eager half-familiarity of Harry’s mouth sinks him quickly, detached cockiness evaporating in a heartbeat. It’s him kissing Harry, for sure, but the sudden depth and ferocity with which that kiss is returned knocks the breath right out of him.

Still, he keeps it together; resists deepening it beyond one long, tempting drag of their mouths and pulls back when Harry lets him up for breath. Eggsy draws himself up straight, so that he can look down into Harry's lidded, lust-hazy eyes. Always leave them wanting more, and all that.

‘ _He walked me home, just in case there was still a threat - though I’m sure they all thought twice about their behaviour after the pasting he gave them without so much as losing a button - right to my door.’_

That’s not a problem either. It’s a beautiful night out and seeing Harry back safely is the gentlemanly thing to do, of course.

That, and he's heard the bit Harry tends to leave out of the story to most of the agents… on polite first telling, anyway.

_‘And then he took me to bed.’_

_***_

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No duh duh duhhhhh on this one. Maybe like a bow-chicka-wow-wowww kinda thing ...
> 
> Keep the feedback coming, please! It gives me LIFE, makes my days and keeps me writing.


	3. One agent goes to bed, two get up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally just porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're here" I've been wrestling hard with this chapter but if I don't get it out there I'm going to stall on all my writing and I ain't got time for that right now so I'm pushing through the block, and hoping it's just in my head and you'll all enjoy this the way the good gods intended. Extra thanks again to @kingsman_hell for the beautiful art, the inspo and the chats! xx

Chapter Three 

The walk to Harry’s accommodation is pleasantly brisk. Hurried. Eggsy has to remind himself once not to reach out and hold his hand, which is strange because part of him really isn’t accepting that this is Harry, his partner. It isn’t, really. This is Harry, a comparatively naive, gorgeous politics student who currently knows Eggsy not even enough to call him that, but as a strong, capable, mysterious spy called Galahad. Harry who’s riled up from a near miss and some pretty smooth flirting and ready to have his pants charmed right off.

Other seeds need to be planted as they make small talk along the way: Harry already knows all he needs to about politics and history - the world’s a corrupt mess, always has been, won’t get any better - and that they’ve been watching him, and they know how clever he is, how bloody _fast._ And brave, he’s seen that tonight. Lots of potential. 

“Other offers might come your way, you know? Better pay. Plenty of perks.” A moment’s brazen eye contact that results in a lovely new blush. God, Eggsy wishes he still did that. Maybe he’ll try harder to see if he can bring it out. “Lots of travel. Plenty of time to chase butterflies.”

“How do you-“

“Told you I've had my eye on you.”

And Harry takes that exactly the way he’s supposed to, puffing up in the chest and holding his lovely straight chin a little higher the rest of the way.

Their body language is as close to neutral as they can manage until the front step, but the little looks and glances are electric, the smiles getting slier, dirtier. Eggsy doesn’t want to imply he knows he’s onto a sure thing, but it’s like self fulfilling prophecy, ain’t it: the assurance of success makes him cocky; the cockiness makes him irresistible considering all that’s gone on this evening: Harry wants him and it’d be rude to disappoint. 

The street’s deserted, not so much as a twitch of a curtain and Harry risks two fingers under the lapel of Eggsy’s jacket. 

“Clearly, you’re coming in for a coffee.”

“Do you even drink coffee?”

“I have the feeling you know I don’t.”

After being lead up three flights of stairs at a trot, Eggsy surveys what's essentially the world's grandest attic, looks at Harry before him, and kicks the door shut. This is the moment _Careless Whisper_ should start playing, only he’s not sure that’s even out yet. 

“Do you know who George Michael is?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

There's a moment's tense, hot quiet; Harry's eyebrows lift in consideration of the patient pause, in challenge almost, and it's such a familiar expression Eggsy recognises him truly in some weird fleeting way. That is Harry. That is _his_ Harry, minus thirty something years and the wrinkles and… a lot of experience. 

This is gonna be fun. 

“Now.” Eggsy closes the gap between them and allows himself the obvious: “Where were we?”

It’s all so satisfyingly predictable he can feel the crackle in the air as goosebumps up the back of his arms, and he knows Harry can feel it too.

“We were standing about here…” Harry presses much closer than he had been in the pub but nobody's complaining about that. Eggsy isn't sure how he’s surprised by Harry's height - he's been lanky since puberty, obviously - but his fingers at the nape of Harry's neck give him the feel of the upper hand still, as does the way Harry averts his eyes. “Amidst a number of people you’d just knocked out.”

Eggsy strokes dreamily under Harry's hairline, doesn't bother looking away from his lips.

“Well, they were being very rude. Manners maketh the man, Harry. You know what that means?”

“Well of course.” Harry touches their lips together but doesn't quite kiss. Just a brush that leaves Eggsy's mouth tingling, watering, and separately it’s kind of amusing that he’s always been such a filthy flirt. “And on that note, I believe I offered you a drink?”

“I don’t think that’s what you were offering me at all, was it?”

Eggsy goes in for the kill, and Harry grabs him by the shirt, and somehow in the motion they’re stumbling to the bed. The kiss is amazing, easy and deep in that way that always makes Eggsy wonder why they don’t spend their whole life snogging; exciting enough to remind him of the answer pretty quick and Eggsy braces himself on his arms over Harry’s body. Close enough to feel the heat and hardness through Harry’s trousers, but just at an angle so he’s not giving anything away himself. Not as if he’s not sprung, but he’s got to make Harry work for it a bit. 

It’s alright for Harry: this is all new to him. Eggsy knows _exactly_ how hot they are together and he’s the one that’s got to be calm, cool and collected; gotta make knowing how to play Harry’s body for its responses look like it’s just a spy’s skill, rather than insider knowledge… not that he thinks Harry would believe the truth if he heard it. _I’m just that good in bed_ is a fair bit more feasible than _I came from the future where we’ve already been doing this for two years, only you’re in your fifties and by the way, aged like the **finest** fucking wine, babes. _

Which happens to be the god’s honest truth, but here in the flesh, the younger version is deliciously breathless and responding gorgeously to soft teasing kisses across his cheek, down his neck. He’s more vocal at this stage than he is these days and his grateful, wondrous little groans are going to Eggsy’s ego and his dick at the same time, spurring him to keep exploring all that soft pale skin, like it’s new. It feels a bit disloyal, somehow, to want Harry like this but of course he does, and he has to. This is a very important mission after all. 

And there’s one bit he can’t forget. Eggsy sucks at the pulse in Harry’s neck and bites quickly at his throat whilst he lines up the ring and delivers the pulse with the other hand.

“Ow! Wha-?”

“Sorry love, think I caught you with my nail there…” Eggsy dives over to kiss the site and just like that it’s done and forgotten. Harry will remember him tonight only by his deeds and actions, and he’s heard all about those.

 _He was beautiful. Stocky, blondeish, I think? I don’t remember his face, isn’t that awful?_

Forgivable, Eggsy realises now, under the circumstances, and considering there’s a fair few hazy notches on Harry’s bedposts, the secret agent blending in was never really worth questioning. Harry never gives the details, never a blow by blow - because that’s not polite, or maybe it’s because he can’t actually piece together the specifics, Eggsy's still not sure quite how much he trusts the memory zap. He just knows this to have been the most ecstatically pleasurable night of his young life. No pressure.

That said, he also knows the bar’s pretty fucking low. Harry at this point has had messy, rushed boarding school fumbles; he’s had hasty, awkward, sometimes painful sex mostly with members of various sports teams, or they’re the ones he tells people about. He’s just about graduated to forgettable drunk hook ups so of course the story of the gentleman spy who saved him from a pasting before tenderly fucking him six ways from Sunday is going to come out tops. 

It’s no excuse to slack off.

There’s a little deliberate posing as he stands over Harry, who’s flushed and wide eyed on the edge of the bed, fighting his own tank top off and starting on the buttons of his shirt. Eggsy loosens his top button and tie under Harry’s pleasingly transfixed gaze, and he’s never been more grateful for his little silver case of Kingsman’s figuratively bullet proof condoms: it looks flash, and you can’t go hoping about through time and space only to get busted by the expiration date on your durex, after all. There’s lube in there too, a couple of sachets of good thick special formula stuff, a couple of packs with a little something to help you get going on an unappealing honeypot, and he don’t need any of that but he doesn’t trust whatever Harry’s trying to dig out of a drawer.

“We’ll use mine,” and he pops the case like he’s proposing, palming what he wants and putting it away before Harry can get too interested in the rest.

Harry, beautifully pink now, frees the button on his straining fly with one hand and holds the other out.

“I’ll just… get myself ready, then -”

And look, the words and the image are a quick shock of a thrill Eggsy doesn’t need but in reality it’s not even close to what he wants so he catches Harry’s wrist instead.

“The fuck you will. You _have_ done this before, right?” He holds his eye contact because it wasnt actually a fucking question. But Harry looks… ashamed, or something, and that’s not right at all. A gentle smile, a much needed lick to wet his lips and Harry looks like he understands, then, but Eggsy lays his jacket down and pulls him close again, their body heat fierce and damp now only through cotton as he rubs his thumb over Harry’s wristbone and kisses the shell of his ear. “Who you been with, hey, skipping all the good parts?” 

Harry looks away, still blushing. 

“Well, they’ve mostly been my age, for a start. You’re -” he doesn’t hold the gasp that makes it a compliment - “obviously more experienced.”

Eggsy can’t help the chuckle.

“Bit old for you, am I, Harry?” And of course Harry has no idea why that’s piss funny and never will. 

Eggsy gets his hand in the thick mop of Harry’s curls and drags his head back for a deep kiss. His other hand strips the buttons of Harry’s shirt, pulls his undershirt up enough that they only have to break apart for a second to whip it over his head and then he’s scraping his teeth down the glistening skin of Harry’s sternum whilst he pulls his trousers off, and his pants straight after them.

“Now, this is getting a bit ridiculous.” Harry’s panting for enough breath to get the words out, Eggsy tucks his thumbs into Harry’s socks and pulls them off for him too on the way because even Harry can’t make being naked with your socks on look good. “Aren’t you going to take anything off?”

Eggsy grins. He knows exactly what he’s doing, how powerful the turn on of being naked whilst the person taking you apart keeps their kit on can be: he learnt it from Harry. And perhaps Harry learns it here, fighting a tremble on the edge of the bed whilst Eggsy slowly removes only his tie.

“Galahad," Harry pouts around the word in its ridiculousness, like his tongue's in his cheek. "Has anybody ever told you you’re the most horrendous tease?”

 _Y_ _ea h - you, last night_ is the accurate but unhelpful answer that dies under Eggsy’s laugh. But it’s good to hear Harry sounding like the one Eggsy knows, it spikes the excitement and quietens the nerves, the lingering misplaced hint of guilt. This is alright: this is Harry, and he wants this without a hint of trickery or manipulation, without a clue about the significance of the night. He’s said it himself before, albeit thirty years in the future - he’d have gone for Eggsy any time, any place. 

Deep in thought, distracted by arousal, Eggsy finds he’s wound his tie around two fingers, and uses it to tease at Harry’s skin: from his collarbones up his neck as he kisses him, long and slow; down to brush silky and smooth over a nipple whilst he grazes the other with calloused fingertips and Harry sighs sharply into his mouth. 

Neurolinguistic programming is easy: It’s like foreshadowing in real life. Harry’s already got that tendency to keep a little something from each of his conquests: Eggsy’s just got to make sure he takes a fancy to the tie without realising he’s doing it, and that mission might already be accomplished but there’s no harm in the double tap. Two options immediately spring to mind, and tying Harry’s hands seems a touch too far for tonight. Harry’s eyes are closed, lips and body seeking more contact without looking and Eggsy lays the middle of the tie just gently across the bridge of Harry’s nose.

“May I?" 

It’s one of Harry’s favourite tricks, these days, and there’s got to be a reason for that. That, and Eggsy’s not sure how well he trusts the memory blurring tech if he lets Harry gaze into his eyes too long. 

“I suppose this is when you implant some sort of device? Or knock me out and I wake up in a bathtub of ice, or the next thing I see is a laboratory ceiling?” But it’s clear he’s kidding, just playing with the novelty… after all, it’s not every night you get to shag a spy.

Well, it is _now,_ but he doesn’t know that. 

“Nah. Call me old fashioned, if you want.” He waits for Harry to closes his eyes again before kissing his ear. “I was just going to do a lot of nice things to your fucking beautiful body.”

Harry sucks in breath so quick it hisses through his teeth, and tilts his head for Eggsy to continue. 

He can risk a proper look, then, at the difference there, touching the smooth skin at the corners of Harry’s eyes, brushing down to hold his jaw. “God you’re pretty.” 

Eggsy forms the blindfold with the tie and knots it so simply that it will fall loose on its own in due course, but it’s plenty enough to focus Harry in on the feelings in his body, the sensations of Eggsy gently biting at his lips and nosing along his jaw, feeling him gasp, feeling the way he hasn’t quite got the mastery of the straight shave yet in the uneven prickle under his chin. He pulls his thumbs along Harry’s collarbones and trails his fingers down, and he can almost feel the shower of sparks through the skin. Harry’s got goosebumps, Eggsy can feel them pricking at his palms as they roam over his body, waking his nerves up, making him sigh and his breathing shudder. 

And Harry’s body is a marvel, smooth and soft - youth and books soft, with a good couple of inches of extra plushness he’s managed to fight off all the way through middle age for Eggsy to dig his fingers into and smooth and squeeze with his thumbs whilst he works on Harry’s neck with his mouth. He leaves no actual hickeys, yet: plenty of rough kissing and quick sucks - more blood flow means less chance of bruising, more sparks for Harry who’s starting to shift his hips and whine through his nose, craning his neck into the contact so Eggsy allows himself to work it up to a love bite where the collarbone meets the shoulder, where Harry can easily keep it hidden - or not … where the feel of it makes him tense up so much the small of his back curls and Harry cries out… 

It’s a good job Eggsy knows he’s done most of his housemates - or will go on to do them - who knows at this point, but they ain’t gonna complain about the ruckus. 

“Please,” manages Harry, still all manners even whilst he’s tilting his hips up, trying to get Eggsy to touch his cock, but the fact he hasn’t yet’s a choice rather than an oversight and Harry’s going to have to trust him. Harry doesn’t actually finish by asking for anything, but very deliberately puts his feet apart and the plea in that makes Eggsy’s mouth go dry.

He swallows, gets comfortable beside Harry on the bed and gets his head in the game.

“Now, I probably should warn you that this-” he draws his lube-wet fingers up between Harry’s legs, making him flinch ever so slightly at the cold and the sudden intimate contact, or maybe the thread of darkness Eggsy weaves into his tone. The tie must be an effective blindfold because his face would give him away in a heartbeat, “- contains something that’s gonna help me get you all loose and relaxed, begging by the time I’m ready...”

To his credit Harry’s breathing doesn’t falter but Eggsy sees the muscle of his lower belly tense. 

“Some sort of nerve agent? Drugs?”

Eggsy gives it a beat for the fear to kick in and turn Harry on - he knows what he’s like - and gets close enough that he knows Harry can hear him suck his fingers.

“Mm. Nah. Butterscotch.” He chuckles - can’t help it, he's buzzing and it was too good a line, and the look on Harry’s face even under the tie is priceless - and trails his thumb up the underneath of Harry’s cock, swiping up a droplet of precome and sucking on that too. “Think we’re doing alright without any of that palaver, hey?”

He gives Harry the tastes on his tongue in another nice deep kiss that lets him feel the laughter in both of their throats, and Harry bites him. He supposes that’s his way of telling him off for the scare... not that you’d have known he fell for it unless you knew him very, very well: that bravery is already there. He’s going to make an excellent Kingsman.

Of course he fucking is. What kind of a nonsense revelation is that? 

Despite - or perhaps because of - how visibly keyed up he is, Harry doesn’t have much patience for Eggsy’s consciously delicate prep work. He’s panting, breath hitching at all the right moments but Eggsy’s barely got two fingers in him when Harry’s shifting his hips and pulling himself away, eagerly trying to kiss whatever bit of Eggsy he can get his mouth on. 

“I’m ready.”

“Err, how dare you?” Eggsy scoffs, putting Harry’s hand on the bulge of his erection, kissing his cheek as he says “you’re not, trust me.” He can’t see Harry’s eyes widen because of the tie, but it’s there in the tic of his cheek. It might take thirty years of experience before Harry’s quite so free with waxing lyrical about how thick Eggsys cock is, so he’ll take what he can get tonight, and what he’s got now is the searing soft heat of Harry squeezing experimentally around his stroking fingers. “If you don’t like this, tell me what I can do to make it better for you.”

“I do-“ Harry’s breath catches in his throat. “I do like it, but you -“

“...Can wait. Why rush a lovely thing? I like to take my time thinking about..,” Eggsys opens his fingers apart, stroking firmly, letting his lips brush Harry’s throat around his hot breath, “...what you’re going to feel like around my dick.” 

Harry gasps half a laugh

“Now really. I’m not going to last if you keep on like that.”

“Failing to see how that’s a problem. Pretty young thing like you. You’ve got more than one round in you.” And that isn’t a question either. 

See, the thing is, Harry has mocked Eggsy’s recovery time before - after, really, but let’s not go there. Reckons he could go three times on the bounce when he was his age. Bragged about it, even, presumably safe in the knowledge Eggsy would never be able to check.

Eggsy leaves teasing Harry’s nape and ears alone to kiss down, obviously skirting his rigid purpling cock - that doesn’t change a bit - and down, nosing along past his balls to flick his tongue at where his fingers are buried in Harry’s body.

“Oh holy god.”

There’s his man.

Harry snatches the tie from his face and flings it off. He wants to watch this and who can blame him, although Eggsy can only meet his eyes and wink at him when he stops and looks up. Otherwise Harry’s going to have to enjoy his view of the top of Eggsy’s head, because Eggsy is very quickly too engrossed in licking Harry out to keep teasing.

The only difference the flavoured lube makes to Eggsy is that he doesn’t like the plastickyness of the plain stuff. It’s not his sweet tooth that hooks him but the way Harry responds to his tongue alongside his fingers: shocked-sounding moaning and thrashing and swearing and Eggsy’s barely got started. He withdraws his fingers so that he can use both hands to lift Harry’s thighs up and open, and nudge below Harry’s tight, soft balls to get to him properly, to lick as deeply as he can into the space he’s worked open and close his mouth in rough wet kisses against Harry’s trembling hole as Harry swears and prays into the pillows. He tastes different - different soap, a trace of musky sweat he’d be furious about but it’s a shower rather than his preferred bath here and he doesn’t know that to care, yet, and somehow that’s intoxicating.

Eggsy keeps it up until he’s exhausted every trick he can think of: until his jaw aches, until there’s a proper puddle of lube and saliva between Harry’s legs on the bed and Harry’s quietened, if anything; his thighs are continuously shaking but he seems to have run out of breath for all the cursing and pleading and resigned himself to riding it out with just the occasional quiet needy murmur.

Eggsy expects blushing, maybe to be begged. What he does not expect to come up to is the thick white wet mess completely covering Harry’s belly, the glistening strand still stretching from his scarlet cock and there’s no mistaking that. The sight’s such a sudden turn on for Eggsy it’s like being punched in the guts - fuck, there’s so much of it - and Harry’s hands are helplessly fisted in the pillows up by his head and he’s still, or already, hard, his face turned sideways to breathe heavily into the pillow and fierce red splashed right across his cheeks.

He turns to meet Eggsy’s gaze just as Eggsy wipes his saliva-slick chin on his shirt cuff. 

“I did warn you.”

“And I told you it weren’t a problem.” Eggsy runs two fingers on his clean left hand up from where they’ve been teasing at Harry’s balls, through the come pooled on his smooth stomach, tracking it up to his waiting mouth and then kissing the taste off his tongue before he can complain about it. Puts them back in quickly - because having Harry sucking on his fingers is abruptly wonderful, sends sparks all through Eggsy’s belly to his cock - and he holds that smoldering, helpless eye contact for a moment whilst his right hand tucks back under Harry’s balls to push his fingers back inside him. 

The moan comes from Eggsy. Harry’s too far gone, speechless, overwhelmed with his mouth full, and having Harry cradled like this - fingers of one hand deep in his arse and the other stuffed down his throat - has got to be the best thing Eggsy’s felt in a year. His cock is throbbing, insides aching with pure want and for the first time tonight the need to impress slips under the need to fuck this gorgeous, eager boy just because he wants to. 

He keeps working Harry between his hands, enjoying his responses and the searing grip of his body, pushing and pulling until Harry’s truly desperate: rock hard again, panting, arching his shoulders back into Eggsy’s arm to urge him to move. 

“I tend to last a lot longer, the second time.” Subtlety must come with age, or Eggsy’s already pushed him past the point of arousal where his filter cuts out.

“Good to know.” 

Harry lays there, exposed and indolent, dabbing half-arsedly at the come pooled on his stomach with the corner of his covers with a dazed, hungry look on his face.

Eggsy finally takes his shirt and undershirt off, drinking in the way Harry stares at his body. Yeah, well, he doesn’t train three hours a day, six days a week to be outdone by academics and guys dig scars, right? Guys like Harry dig scars, he knows that much.

Harry reaches out like he’s almost afraid to touch him, fingers barely skimming down the plane of his pectoral and then bumping down the ladder of his abs to rest on Eggsy’s belt. 

“How would you like me?”

Oh, but now Harry’s eagerness doesn’t seem meek in the least. It’s sultry and heavy, an offer for both of them.

"Hands and knees." It comes out as a rasp and almost a question. It's not meant to be aggressive, but maybe it's just on the side of forceful enough to send Harry scrambling to comply, and he’s got enough pillows bunched up under him that Eggsy can take Harry's hands and pull them behind him so he's face down, entirely at Eggsy's mercy. 

" _Fuck,"_ Harry coughs out as he hits the bed. Eggsy forgets he’s not used to this, and he thinks he’s reading him right, but… 

"That alright?"

"Oh, god yes." 

That’s alright then. Eggsy holds Harry's hands in the small of his back whilst he gets himself ready and pushes in. 

For once Eggsy’s thankful for the scant interference of the condom. He’s not used to them, lately, and not feeling the slick heat inside Harry’s body skin to skin gives him just the breathing space he needs for a moment, so that he can sink in slowly, slowly until Harry thinks he’s stopped, lets out the breath he’s holding, and then Eggsy pushes the rest of the way home in a last shove.

Harry moans. He always does at that move, but the noise he makes these days isn’t this lovely open cry of surprise; isn’t followed by such an inventive stream of panted swearing whilst Harry gets used to the fullness, scrabbling and sratching at Eggsy's wrists but he only seems to want him closer, and Eggsy can do that; can grind so deep his hipbones are pressed up against that soft young arse and wait there, just waiting out the first flush of bliss feeling the pulse of his cock in that tight heat. 

Balls deep in Harry’s arse, Eggsy finds his balance. Without the distraction or complexity of looking him in the face, of trying not to give himself away, it could be any lay, any mark to impress. And Eggsy can do that. Just the ordinary thrill of the fuck, of a really attractive body to grip at and mount and sheathe himself in, to enjoy, with a good head start on the pleasurable challenge of bringing them to climax.

Once he starts to move it all blurs together. The heavenly sickness rippling around him, the sweet little noises that he's used to really having to work for, given to him so freely; the novelty of so easily having the physical upper hand, of being able to move Harry around and know he loves that he can’t easily pull free.

And Harry _is_ loving it. That much is plain from the puddle hes dripping on the bed; the shards of feathers scattering across the top of the bed where he’s fought a hole in the pillow with his nails or his grip or his teeth. Eggsy puts a foot on the mattress and the angle allows him deeper thrusts, pulling all the way back and slamming home fast and hard and before long they’re both sweating, panting, hurtling for orgasm quick.

As much as it’s heaven it’s probably not the way to a fuck Harry’s going to remember fondly for the next several decades, so Eggsy forces himself to straighten up, to slow down until he’s just rocking; teasing back and forth over Harry’s prostate with the very head of his cock.

“Not like this,” he answers to Harry’s frustrated keening. It didn’t quite form a question but he can feel the delicious tension all the way through Harry’s body, see him drawing tight and knows exactly why he'd started struggling to pull his hands free. “Come here. Let me look at you.”

Eggsy scoops Harry roughly into his arms and turns them over, drags him onto his lap and Harry, undone with need in the sudden change of pace, straddles Eggsy’s lap and sinks straight down on his cock without a word. He puts his hands on Eggsy’s shoulders and starts to bounce, eyes blown and searching Eggsy’s face for the same desperation. He’s bound to find it, because Eggsy needs to come so badly he can’t see straight and the only way he can think to stave it off is to focus completely on Harry’s pleasure; to dive in to worship those collarbones right in front of his face, concentrating on the graze of his teeth across skin.

It’s tense, sweaty heaven, and he can’t think for the life of him why this position isn’t in their regular repertoire... not this way round, anyway. Age is the obvious consideration, but fifty three year old Harry runs the Kingsman assault course in twelve minutes flat. He ain’t gonna put his back out riding Eggsy’s cock, is the point, and Eggsy’s gonna make sure he remembers that.

But this version’s flagging now, losing his rhythm as his focus visibly shifts back to his own sensations again, slowing to a gentle rocking which might be just as good for him but it’s nigh unbearable for Eggsy in the _best_ way. His mouth falls to Eggsy's neck and the urgent rasp of his tongue brings Eggsy's skin out in fireworks.

“Getting tired?” Eggsy runs his hands up Harry’s sides to lift his arms and place his hands on the headboard. “How about you hold on right here…” Eggsy barley gives Harry time to get his grip before planting his feet on the bed and thrusting up into him, hard, shocking a cry right out of Harry’s throat as he bounces him into the air with the force of it. 

“That’s..." Harry's swallow clicks in his dry throat and his mouth falls open again. "Oh God.”

“That’s it.” Eggsy takes one hand from Harry’s hip, spits in it and closes it around the head of Harry’s cock, stroking it double time to the bouncing of the bed so they’re working for it together and he’s transfixed, desperate, totally focused on Harry’s orgasm even whilst his own nerves are blazing, unbearable brightness up under his ribs and through his hips, molten bliss right down his spine. He manages to hold on by sheer willpower, because he missed the first time and he wants to see this version of Harry come more than he wants to keep breathing. 

And it’s a beautiful thing to watch when he gets there: he properly throws his head back and drops his hands so that Eggsy has the honour of those final few strokes, that crucial grip Harry abandons himself to as he arches and yells out and come spurts over Eggsy’s eager fist and right up over his heaving chest. It feels beautiful; the wetness on Eggsy’s skin sets him fully aflame and he almost loses control, just pulling Harry roughly up and down his cock even when he knows he’s spent. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please don’t.”

So Eggsy doesn’t. He wants Harry to remember tonight for its fireworks, not because he had a sore arse for a week, but he also knows first hand that it’s not just lip service, that this truly is a satisfaction Harry enjoys so he stops drawing it out and lets himself go. Grits his jaw and feels it sweep through him, waves of pleasure crashing so fast they’re falling on top of each other, rising up his body like a boiling tide. He grabs Harry around the back and holds him to him, bodies hard and hot and slippery together, Harry’s cock between them not softened yet - Christ he wasn’t kidding about having been a goer in his youth - kissing him freshly breathless, moaning into Harry’s mouth as he finally embraces the pleasure frying his senses and lets himself come.

When Eggsy’s brain recalibrates he’s panting into Harry’s neck, hand yanking tight in the back of his hair and Harry - true to form - doesn’t seem to object to that in the slightest. Harry’s hands rest on Eggsy’s waist, and his chest is stuttering with the ghost of a chuckle: wary, like he’s punch-drunk now that it’s over. 

He _thinks_ it’s over. Eggsy can’t quite bear to be done with him yet. Not whilst Harry is still capable; not with such an obvious omission from his list of favourite things. 

Eggsy lays Harry down on the bed and deals with the condom, before kneeling between Harry’s knees and starting to trail open kisses up his salty thighs. The answering jolt of surprise is a picture.

“Surely you’re joking.”

“Do you want me to be?” Eggsy kisses at the crease of Harry’s groin and shifts his hands under to cup the plushness of his arse. “If you wan’t, I’ll stop.”

Harry chokes on a whimper, but imperiously waves his hand. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Some things never change.

His cock’s responsive to the flick of Eggsy’s tongue, the warmth of his mouth. It’s not fully hard anymore but that means Eggsy can feel him twitching and throbbing, feel which touches make him pulse all the harder and it’s thrilling, in its way. Eggsy’s a few years past springing back so quickly himself, which is a weird thought but it’s still immensely satisfying to hear Harry completely undone now, struggling with his pleasure as Eggsy sucks him smooth and slow. It’s not about flashy tricks and flawless deepthroat. It’s about making Harry feel treasured, savoured; being the _gentleman_ who ruins Harry for lacklustre sex. 

Fair’s fair. Harry did it to him. Does it to him, in about thirty years’ time. Whatever. 

So he takes his time, building up slowly to exactly the symphony of licking, kissing and sucking that he knows Harry wants to last forever and then giving it to him until Harry’s hands are in Eggsy’s hair and he’s mewling, properly, squirming his sweaty back in the wreckage of his sheets like he can’t bear it .

When he finally comes in Eggsy’s mouth there’s not much, but enough to taste and Eggsy flops victorious down into a pile of clothes on the floor. He’s fucking _knackered_ . 

Harry doesn’t look up, but Eggsy can hear his shuddery breathing, enjoys listening to his happy sighing as he finds and starts to put back on his clothes. He thinks Harry might even have fallen asleep, and resists the urge to snuggle him up in the covers - Christ, he’s adorable - but Harry cracks an eye at him and fights to sit up when he realises Eggsy’s getting dressed. 

“You… don’t have to go.”

“A gentleman never overstays his welcome.” He’d fucking love a cuddle and a nap, as it happens, but the longer he stays the more he risks Harry realising something is amiss. How long did Merlin say the memory buzzer worked for? A few hours each way? 

Eggsy’s carriage is going to be turning back into a pumpkin any moment now. Time to get a move on. 

So he smiles and says nothing else as he buttons his shirt, checks his jacket pockets to make sure he won’t be leaving behind anything but what he’s supposed to. Harry’s winding the tie thoughtfully between his fingers and Eggsy hold his hand out just to watch Harry blush again as he gives it back.

“Will I see you again?”

“I promise.” Eggsy takes the ballpoint pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and writes the fated number on the broadest pale stripe on the back of the tie, watching the ink leech out along the weave of the silk, but it remains legible enough and the dimples flash either side of Harry’s smile for a moment when he hands it back. “You call this number and you tell them, Oxfords, not Brogues.”

“Well, perish the thought,” Harry says gamely, a bit beautifully fucked out and clearly just going to accept that without explanation. 

Eggsy buttons, checks his glasses, checks everything else and swallows down the tiny wistful shiver he knew was coming. He can’t stay here.

“Until then.” Eggsy gives him a kiss on the lips and walks out of the door.

 _I never did._ Not strictly accurate, as it turns out. Just took a while. 

Harry’s mystery lover had disappeared, so he tells it, presumably to die because the Galahad seat was the one that was vacant when Harry - having left it a week or two so as not to seem too eager - called that number. What actually happens is Eggsy pulls the contacts from their concealed pocket the moment he’s the other side of the door, thinks of the Harry waiting for him in the present, and touches them together before he can even think about looking back.

And the rest is history. 

  
  


###  Coda 

Eggsy arrives back in what he remembers from six hours ago to be the present, with plenty enough time to shower and change before he goes to the wardrobe in the spare room to raid the famous suitcase that has followed Harry from one residence to another, collecting its trinkets along the way. They’re mostly tucked into a compartmentalised organiser he got in Ikea - the earrings and the socks, washed obviously; one bra; a fucking prosthetic thumb; an assortment of pants - and it feels a bit like snooping but Harry has shown him the case and a few highlights in good fun. And yes, there is his tie, no longer new but barely faded, the ballpoint figures blurred out to the barest shapes of a black smudge. 

Would it have been here, if he’d looked this morning? Doesn’t bear thinking about, really, does it? Not worth turning your brain inside out for, Eggsy reckons. He’s home and everything’s just the way he left it, except JB’s got the squeaker out of his stuffed chicken and left the white fluffy filler in clumps all through the house, and Eggsy follows the faint but manic honking to find him merrily destroying the remains on Harry’s decorative Chesterfield.

Eggsy wouldn’t change the present for the world.

He’s back at HQ with five minutes to spare before anyone starts worrying, and in time to still have a lovely flush to his neck and jaw, and a grin most of the agents understand very well. 

Merlin clamours to look at him straight away: at the grazes on his knuckles; at his neck, and yeah, he can feel a couple of bite marks blossoming now he’s been out in the cool air and the rest of his body’s calmed down.

“How did it go?”

“Fuckin' silly question that, innit?” Because they’re there, obviously, and because unless he really tries Eggsy knows he’s one of those people you can tell’s had a shag half a mile off.

The thought makes him uneasy, though, just a little ghost of a worry he doesn’t really understand enough to have. 

“Can I see him, now? Can we call him in?”

“Of course.”

It only takes a couple of minutes, because he’s up in the office, and the relief that blooms through Eggsy when Harry waltzes in - exactly has he should be - is somehow close to orgasm. Life is good, just the way it is. Life is fucking good.

“Evening, babes.”

“Welcome back, Galahad. Congratulations on a successful mission.” Harry kisses him warmly on his still throbbing lips. The sparkle in his eye tells Eggsy he’s got an idea what sort of mission that was. “Merlin tells me it became necessary to send you to make an appearance in my past, when he realised he must have already done it. Far be it from me to understand all this nonsense.”

“You understand enough when you want to.” Eggsy thinks about Harry’s little collection of sketches. 

“I suppose you can’t tell me when?”

“Classified-” barks Merlin in an attempt to interrupt, and Eggsy remembers he can’t even tell him that the very fact Harry is standing there is proof of his success, that he could never have failed, or he wouldn’t have been in the room to be sent on the mission at all. Presumably.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Harry, you know that.”

Harry smiles and it crinkles his crows feet, makes Eggsy’s heart do a little double-skip.

“I promise I didn’t drug you or nothing...”

Harry catches a laugh in a snort and clears his throat. 

“Oh of course you didn’t. I’ve never been blind nor an idiot.” His hands are hot as they take Eggsy’s and god they feel so different: bonier, more weathered, more assured. Like home. “I trust we had a wonderful time.”

Eggsy remembers the way Harry’s always described that first encounter - hot and wistful - and feels himself warming with the praise Harry will never know he’s given him. 

“Yeah. So do I.”

***

Eggsy sadly has to cry off another round before bed, because he’s just not got it in him. Like, he could probably get it up again now but he’s shattered, and a few little hints at why he’s so worn out are enough to send them both to sleep with smug smiles on their faces.

He wakes bolt upright at 3am wondering if he’s misremembering Harry welcoming him back as _Galahad._

  
  


End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you've enjoyed this. Please toss a heart to your author, or even better, cross my palm with a comment and I will inevitably treasure your words and turn that energy into... more filth. I'm basically just a Rube Goldberg machine for porn.  
> And these should link you to full sizes of the artwork:  
> [Thrust](https://imgur.com/Z69YtVq)  
> [Disparity](https://imgur.com/25zaflI)


End file.
